Saturday, 14 February 2015

500 5

Drinking becomes sober. Sober with apple attraction. 

I know who’s awake and in the nearest destination we’re all awake and none of us have the powder or blood of the world’s turmoil, we’re the sleeping protesters which have decided that our arms do nothing, so it becomes foolish yet understanding that to spare our own lives, it’s better to watch from a side, because our arms wouldn’t change anything yet fear of guns still bullies into a trance, because by going to the front we wouldn’t save any lives, just take others and whose would it be someone else’s or ours and for once we value our own. 

I like watching the windows go one by one at night and I wonder if the war swallows if so will the forest or would our living souls be the first to go?

It surprises me that it doesn’t snow in the next few weeks and my own depression can wipe out idle memories. As I fiddle around the house, I start finding Christmas gifts scattered and a lot of them have either cracks or come as good as new, but it seems as if the whole house had travelled through war, whoever had been here holds the same past as everyone else or the thoughts of powder. Barely any hadn’t been touched or observed to feel the turmoil. I sit in the kitchen, fiddling with the box as Jack had decided to do fishing. I had refused, without realizing that he had left, going through all the house, thankful for minimal heating but the weather was barely catching up on it’s calendar date anyway. I wondered if he would fish with his bare hands. 

The toys seemed to depress me with deep forgotten nostalgia of a time when war wasn’t thought of and all laws were minor as it seems now. I lift up one to just put it back, as I hear some small sound as I peak out of the kitchen to see a tall man with dark hair to his shoulders.

He smiles at me.

I wonder if he wants the house back. 

“No, I’m just visiting.” He says and I realize he makes as much sense as when I was drunk, he makes his way to my gifts, the room feeling lighter as he takes one asking what was wrong with these and I just mutter nothing. I observe him, as age seems to slip conclusion from him and he is dressed rather grim fingers in dirt and I wonder what sort of metaphor would he ever cary and how would he even represent all of us, as if we were all a play and this house was a sole model of the world. He doesn’t feel intimidated by my look. He puts all the toys down and before I can even say anything, he turns around. I follow the dark haired man up to the stairs and he just waves, deep brown eyes fixated on mine for a moment before he heads downstairs. 

I can’t call him useless, but not much is said and I wonder what had the gifts even had. I sit down, inspecting the fixed cracks and noses as Jack does come back with a fucking basket full of fish I make a mental note to discard as I get reminded to make way to another city, to someone who wants to reconnect with a relative which seems to be causing ruckus and even appearing on the CCTV inside the house. Jack seems surprised and displeased about my silence as I dress up, as if our whole relationship had been a string and as I slept when I realized that I had started to get very attracted to a selkie which had no interest in me, it seemed like a reason for me to bury it, as I would try to speak less, setting up the laptop I had brought with me, just to notify that I was up and running again, wondering how many had already died within hiding to be heard. 

"So if we have to cut down trees to know their age, would it be the same with people?" Jack muses, thinking, shuffling, unused to the idea of me leaving apparently. "Is that what you do, look at the dissected tree."
I don’t think.

"You can come and see if you like, just don’t talk to anything if you see or feel." I say, buttoning my coat and excitement showers in Jack’s face before he pulls himself together an thanks me, heading back to grab his newly bought coat on our latest trips to the biggest city nearby. I don’t think clearly, even I tell myself that it’s a dead case as I twist and turn on one of the beds, I watch him, his silhouette wondering if he would try the attic for his skin, if he would emerge with his eyes a beady black and the skin thicker, smoother and much more gray taking a form I would’ve never linked him to without knowing, yet it had been getting worse as Jack would try to look away from my gaze and I kept it as such. 

Our mind can alter memories to the state it wants, really. You want that forgotten, it will be those who you have met a split second who would be engraved forever, I thought as I looked at Jack, who seemed to be more than excited at the possibility of traveling in a train.

It was a seal on the train, after all.

The trains were rather empty as usual, everyone making a point of not sitting together, as the selkie kept watching the countryside go by, how all the houses built held lives and were all the same, the same kept secrets and idle smooth life, we all craved, they gave out impressions of dollhouses which we would play with to forget and I guess so did our house. You’d smile, wondering about it. 

I crossed my arms to see a young couple walk in, Jack only giving them a sole glance.

I flinched as I started hearing them speak English, knowing that the guy’s gaze falling upon mine was just a question as he started speaking to his companion, waiting for me to speak, as Jack asked me how much longer and I didn’t need to play the accent where from guessing game, as he had done with his companion.

The next couple was someone dressed up as me and it seemed more natural and less disturbing to see someone who reminded you of what was happening outside the core even if there were thousands of us. When you’re bitter about the place you left, you’re bitter about all coming from there. Jack watched me and as he kept watching me, before I looked up, it dawned on me perhaps it was the longest he’d ever look at me with his dark eyes and I couldn’t even move, a bit aroused from his attention. I broke the stare to look at the window to see the fading day, as Jack gave himself time to catch up on all the looking I’ve done at him. 

“What kind of books do you read?” Jack snaps me out of my trance as I just look back at him, his usual cold gaze as if I would have been looking at a lake at night, sucking me in and reminding me of something eternal. 

“Excuse me?” I voice my confusion.

“Well, we are heading out to a city. I figured I might just get you a gift.” He shrugged and scratched his brow. “It is Christmas and I like the whole idea of reading books on Christmas’ Eve as a gift. It’s some Icelandic tradition I heard when I was there, years ago. Seems nice to follow it, again. If you want.”

He adds with a bitter tone and I just smile lightly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice and I just nod.

“So what do you read?” He asks again, making sure that I answer his question. I shrug and the fear of accepting the fact that a state of harmonical friendship is something I would self-destruct against makes matters worse. It gets worse, because the catalyst to each failure is yourself, is the fear that all you’ve thought will collapse and my sudden elevated state is not helping, making feel sufficient energy to break a window and jump off the train, just so that I would never see rejection when love is written under my fingernails and I’m not daft to peel them off. Fear keeps restricting my love which is unwanted, as days go by trains, it gets worse and worse, the room becomes more cluttered with desire and forcing him to do anything that I had considered walking deliberately with him as we would visit Alex and Miles which had a mistletoe under their door frame.

I am my own graveyard. 

“I guess psychological fiction.” I shrug and Jack seems to have his own book choice in mind. I wonder how he looks like as a seal if there is something as odd as a white elephant in an elephant play just because the roles became short. I played God and a white elephant in that play, because God had to wear white, the elephant wore white as well, because there was no time to change.

Was I that as well? With a riffle to all sides?

The wrong melodies come with the wrong memories. I quickly turn off my phone, before texting back that I will be there at the right time to talk with the spirit. I wrap my scarf harder as if the winter is harder to embrace. He holds the silence and I feel more agitated by the fact that I seem to be sole now in my own pain. My whole body seems to break out from a numb cocoon and I just hug myself harder and I feel like picking a fight for the sole reason that I am not to be given something mutual. We’re all brutal and our sole existence narrows down to fucking and fighting.

Misery reminds of the world’s dystopian state and the telly above our heads which shows what happens on both sides, the numbers tolling like strings in a carpet, too many and drawing blood patterns. We have nothing to do, because we don’t matter. No one wants those who survive, because the dead become valuable in the world of Chichikov’s hands. Only Chichikov becomes everyone who wants to be one, choosing the right souls to deal with and solely to please himself. 

Illusion masters itself in all forms, gender and sexuality and maybe the devil is a sole illusion and I wondered if what I had seen was some sort of schizophrenia I wasn’t following and Jack was just an angry dream of mine.

"Hey, Jack, which super powers do you have besides turning back into a seal and fucking off?" Jack just glares at me and I wonder if we both grump at each other revolting in a duplicate culprit situation.

Questions mount the disconnection from reality, the desire to fling things across and desire to consume one’s flesh. There is nothing left. I keep staring at Jack, that I see the selkie feel uncomfortable. We’re all tormented, because the fights are not for us, but rather against us, we’re all here reduced to paper or lack of it, we are not the gleaming eyes, we can’t count the wars and we can’t count the brothers we’ve lost because we are not told how many brothers were killed and at the stake of proving one’s supremacy because I forbid myself,

our existence is not about fucking and fighting, it’s about making sure you’re better than the rest

that even seeps into sex, sadly

Whenever I would feel heartbroken I would imagine Brian sitting opposite me in a train, perhaps he would be wearing a long dress and maybe that’s why he appears wearing such and I try not to muse much on why it happens so that I see him in a dress, looking like Brian as well. 

Brian would get sad and would be far more vocal than I was, when I would prefer to be idle and live, he was the one who would get outraged and ended up getting outraged by himself, losing all touch and both of us threading ourselves out, not counting the droplets of blood and all bodies drenched in substance and lube, looking at each other, realising that no matter how far you’ve come, you may break if it’s not meant to be, even with gritted teeth.

When I looked at Jack, he seemed brighter. 

But Brian would still dominate my thoughts even if Jack’s playing hand was far more tempting and he seemed to lure me in, pulling me harsher and harsher by the leash, his lips ghastly. 

“We seem to be writing our own love stories and our whole life becomes the movies we’ve never seen as children.” He had said once, right after sex, when his insecurities were gone and we would lay side by side, flaccid, all anxiety shredded with simple motions, his make-up smudged, as I would watch the scarps of mascara under his eyelids. Now I could see him sit and say the same thing.

When he’s gone, I realize that I might’ve never said that I loved him enough.

I would grab him into a hug, Brian surprised and nearly tumbling half-way and tell him how I feel and with every time, it seemed to be like a glass of liquor which we had given.

I missed him dearly, but it is not us which commit the mistakes of the beloved. 

And I still miss those in front as I watch Jack, myself making the wrong moves possibly to the wrong man. Despair reaches the lungs, making my breath shorter and more static. Brian was an old liquor which would give me the heaviest and worst hangovers in the morning and fear of denial, since he would choose me over others and I would watch until it eventually became my turn. Being in Sweden made it ironic and I had been to Gothenburg twice already, listening to people and who they had wanted me to listen to.

“Is a selkie the not sexy version of a merman?” I ask Jack just to tick him back.

Honesty only comes at one’s before sleep, that’s when the thoughts are more sincere and then you can’t hide away, it becomes far more sober than dreams, because you’re talking to yourself and you don’t have the excuse of forgetting. It starts getting heavier every day and the fact that I had started going unmedicated made me wonder far too many things and allowing time to slip from around my neck, making me more than aware of what I was feeling, allowing me to fully see Jack as he would shift in his sleep and I would feel him. 

I become bitter from not knowing what to do, that we have started coexisting and I wondered how would it start feeling a few weeks ago and it becomes natural that he walks around and that he stopped leaving the house, tuning my guitar whenever it would get out of tune and that he was the one who offered decorating the tree and my thoughts started swallowing me entirely, I didn’t feel chained but he was far too attentive that I wondered when he would notice and what meal of the day it would’ve been. 

It starts feeling as if I don’t age with time at all and I become more attentive and I even see who is living around us and Jack sometimes looks up himself and stops at the staircase and I wonder how much long would I be able to hold and one night, he excuses to smoke and that’s when I keep the lights on and I decide to sit in the middle of the kitchen, recalling in a fog how Miles and Alex (his boyfriend) had ventured for Christmas to remind how isolated everyone was and how small the interactions were. Once me and Jack got tea at the local cafe and I paid attention how little people spoke and how all the orders were done on the phone and soon enough we were left alone and I wondered if he was with me because there was nothing else.

Was he with me because there was nothing else.

Nothing else at all.

Time was slipping from my hands and a whirlwind and I recall how I had celebrated Valentine’s with Brian and I wondered how much had I changed over the years and how much had there been in a change and how much had I missed myself through depressive episodes. I lit a cigarette, recalling how last night, I realized that I don’t even notice that he’s there, I’m so used to him and to us not touching, even if my whole body aches and I wonder if I myself give enough love for him to keep myself existing and how come I never got asked by anyone, I would just get stared at as I would talk to spirits or ghosts when called over like that time I had taken Jack, walking back, was exhausting and Jack offered me his arm, keeping his questions for later.

And I had asked him, feeling as if I were to sleep, knowing that I would sleep on the way back and I had wanted back home, I had asked him if he wanted to be my Valentine.

He declined.

Last night I had started seeing him ruffle through the clothes, through the lockers, through all the rooms, rummaging and showing me rooms I had not seen (and even the room I had hidden his skin in) to try and find it, because it had been his right, but my body had stared shaking and all memories collapse and relapse

I stand up, still smoking, as I open the door, feeling the dark cold hit me as I keep walking, feeling myself uncomfortable that I even close my eyes to grab the backpack and I take the skin out, recalling how I had yelled back at him

that he would never leave.

I think of burning it in the kitchen, as I waste all of the alcohol bottle I would cook with, but that would cause a house fire, naturally, so I drag the old, worn out thing which Jack has seen the world in and I know that I no longer control myself and that something is going on with the last scratch I had gotten on my arm, how it had stretched and Jack offered to read a prayer

but I declined, for it had done nothing to me when I tried the night before

sometimes it’s better to see how planned things go

to see if you can get out.

I don’t hold and when I don’t even know if it’s the 13th or the 14th of February I drag where the snow is the thinnest and Jack looks at his skin before I drop it on the ground and drop an opened lighter on it. 

I don’t even stay to watch it burn, flipping at him and that’s when I’m sure I’ve got more than scratches and bruises all over my body, because love abuses you.


I actually had to edit because I didn't soak Jack's selkie skin in alcohol so then I wrote the next bit for the next chapter. Frankly, I fucked up, I hadn't binged in a while and I was dying to write and I was really inspired to write 500 xD so I've been dying all day and because frankly it's a rough and horror story, it's heavy and yeah, this is my 13th/14th February gift :D



Anyway, I kind of wanted to honor the holiday and all, I'll see if I'll have something else tomorrow but all stories I'm updating now are heavy and well, I guess this is the best themed gift even if I'm rather a love-love person and I'm celebrating with Callie, it doesn't really change my writing style and I mused regarding last year, since I wrote a one-shot but I really wanted to continue writing my novels and I was in a messy relationship as well last year and I kind of wanted to fix things, didn't so yeah. So pretty much back on track and I asked Callie what had she wanted and we both wanted the new chapter of 500 and this one is big as well xD

I felt bad about the skips because I don't like them but I liked capturing how everything goes past you and you don't notice anything at times, so I liked capturing that. And I wanted Valentine's. And I actually felt bad if I wasn't descriptive enough. I didn't write a lot of 500 in a while or I ahve been slowly, like the train scenes were from the other place we were at, so it was rough time so I kind of find it hard to pick up stories which I wrote in places when I was depressed, but 500 is set where I am now and I really love the story, I wonder how the time skip affects everything but it's not supposed to be a very big novel either but I love it to bits. 

Well, frankly we're getting to the climax? Is that how you call it? XD Jamie burning Jack's skin was one of those first even notes I thought of with a story and all is going by plan. I wonder if this is the part where I go you get cookie if you're figuring out stuff xD Is it obvious? Or do I pretend I have no idea? 

The first phrase surely came from apple cider. I think I was either drinking it or thinking of it xD

500 was the first story I used to frankly set this world's setting and make it even more gruesome so that's why I really enjoy the story and I love that the setting of 500 is just as strong as the plot itself and they're both very interesting and I like that they're very separate, the setting is like a background in a theatre telling the story in it's own way and just highlighting how bad things are. 

I had thought I would have the chapter up through the winter holidays, but I didn't so here xD

I think um, seeing the current unnamed character was really interesting and I will address it later even more and kind of talk of my experience as well, for now, a mystery is a mystery. I hadn't recalled if he had shown up before or not, but here he is, I just sometimes forget which chapters I have posted and which ones I haven't xD

Many stories I write about in stories like 500 are things I've heard or have experienced, the CCTV was told to me and frankly, I get a bit angry when people make things up and lie that they are real, CCTV is one of the real ones, actually and I dunno, I like hearing actual stories, not made up ones, so that's why I make a point of pointing out where's fiction and where is actual things. 

Back as I talked of the trains once we had a guy from London (sorry accent was far too obvious and it was funny because he was trying to determine where was I from and me and Callie also mused on it) and yeah, I kind of took that for the story, because you kind of stare when you see someone else speak among themselves in English even if it's every day, I dunno why. 

And the couple, it was weird to see someone which dressed up like me, only he had been taller and that was it and I was in make-up, it was odd XD

The Iceland tradition was something I had read and used, really, figuring that Jack travelled around. 

And I guess Jamie's one-sided love is frankly a topic which well, fits Valentine's frankly and something we all can relate to (again, when did my blog have anything optimistic xD)

I seem to have a thing to make Jamie talk of Gogol fuck knows why xD Chichikov is a character of Dead Souls, can't even recall what my line of thinking was. 

Sometimes I wonder about my experiences because when you do psychological assesment tests they always ask you about spiritual encounters and that kind of intimidates me frankly and feels very excluding because I understand that it may be a sign, but it's wrong to take off things which are there and you're not the only one which sees and etc.

The Jamie and Jack bickering are one liners me and Callie laugh about which I state as jokes through out the day, so yeah, I guess things like these seep through and it's obvious who my stories are dedicated and written for.

I think I either wrote Brian's phrase post-coital or I just write good post-coital thinking XD

I'm poly so I quite freely give the space for characters to juggle many relationships and feelings at once, frankly.

It's funny that I don't really emphasize where the story is set and I think it's the first time I stated that it's Sweden in the story and I chose Gothenburg even if I've been there once to use. Originally I was going to write about Jamie and his medium sessions in this chapter but don't worry all is ahead xD

What tempted me to write this today was the honesty before bed, which I had last night, it's quite hard frankly to confess even to yourself really straight to the face realizations and I was speaking about it to Callie, I dunno, I've always been open about my partners or people I've crushed on with her so it's very natural for both of us to discuss and even mock around each other xD so I quite like how I had phrased it in the morning and I was frankly lazy to write it down, I was lazy to write down many things today to make sure that I would write today and here I am even with a good backstory xD

I talked about the time skips before in this backstory, sorry, messy I know xD 

It's also the first time I use Miles and Alex's names here fully, yay xD

Me and Callie were drinking tea at a cafe, waiting for the bus and I realized how much antisocial every is (just like us) so that's why I enjoy writing small observations into things like 500 and Blue/Jacket which are set in places I've lived or live frankly.

I kind of thought a bit of my last year's where I was miserable and musing what the fuck to do and this one which is more casual and loved, really. So I kind of did those parallels. 

Jack's reply to make Jamie burn the skin originally was different but I'm sure they would have that talk again. 

Regarding the scratches and bruises I had forgotten that well, they happen in such cases and I got a bruise and a scratch but mine were most likely from packing, I checked, so that reminded me to use it. I'm trying to make a suptle hinting fest, but it's so fucking obvious, isn't it? XD

I decided to specifically post it since it has the whole 13th/14th feel even if this is more for Valentine's with Jamie's love, frankly.

All will make sense if it doesn't.

I love the ending phrase and I deliberately ended there and I dunno, I like the metaphor even if it's surely not love causing what's happening.

I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you will have a good Valentine's and thank you for your love, I love you guys as well



No comments:

Post a Comment